Mark II
by Meresta
Summary: USAxUK:: America never knew operating a gun could be so.. inciting. Lemon.


**A/N: **Yes, it's another lemon. Don't judge me. I drove my friend crazy fidgeting over this xD In any case, this was created because of my obviously nonexsistent kink for weapons (and listening to the song 'Machine Gun' by Portishead). I'll stop now, before I embarrass myself any further. Please enjoy! :Meresta  
**Summary:** America never knew operating a weapon could be so.. inciting.  
**Rating:** M  
**Warnings: **(I still don't know how to warn for this) Malexmale pairing, language, use of weapons, sex.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

**Mark II**

"You know we can't go on much longer using these, we'll have to find a replacement as soon as possible."  
America sighed, chewing on the end of his pencil. He didn't understand why his boss worried over this so much.  
"Yes sir."  
"I don't care where you get it, how you get it or who you get it from. We need a better model and we need it _fast._"  
"Yes sir."  
"I'll leave it to you then."

With those words, his boss hung up. America removed his feet from his desk and sat upright, his pencil still stuck between his teeth.

It was World War II.

Above anything else, this was a time were weapons and ammunition could decide over life and death. Unfortunately, the firearms at the Axis side were far superior to the Thompson gun the Allies owned. When it first got produced, it was too late for World War I and way ahead of its time to be sold outside of war. Now, new designs had outdated this heavy machine gun and America's boss was desperate to find something lighter, cheaper, and easier to produce.

It was up to America to get it for him.

So, at the next meeting, instead of trying to make contact with alien species to ask them for guidance during the war, America lay down a request. It didn't take long for other countries to react, if their design would be accepted, it would mean a great income, something no country could refuse in time of war.

Spain's offer was the first that had been taken seriously, followed by Finland's, but both guns got rejected. It was a hot, lazy afternoon when America's phone rang. Putting his hamburger aside, he answered it.  
"Twis ish Ahed sweakin'"  
"..You call that speaking?"  
America quickly chewed and swallowed, before he spoke again.  
"Iggy! What's up?"  
"I have a design you might want to see."  
For a moment, America was confused.  
"..Design?"  
"The machine gun, you git! What else?" On the other end of the line, England sighed in frustration. Why did he even bother. America's eyes widened.  
"Ooooh, the gun! Great!"  
"I'll come over tomorrow to give you a demonstration. You can make a test report to give to your boss."  
"Sure thing! I'll see you tomorrow!"  
England didn't say goodbye, he just hung up. It reminded America of his boss and he winced. He really hoped this design would be something good, or else he'd be in big trouble.

Next morning, America started preparing a field where the gun could be tested. It took him till noon to finish it.  
Taking a few steps back, he nodded, proud of his work. It was quite challenging to make aliens out of sandbags and cardboard, but somehow he managed to do it. He would show those bastards who the hero was.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to be?"  
America turned and flashed a wide white grin at seeing his former mentor.  
"Ah, you're here!"  
England frowned, still a little taken aback by their so called 'test figures'. After staring for a while, he decided to just get this over with as soon as possible.

"Right." The older Nation started, shrugging off his jacket. It dropped to the sandy ground with a dull thud, followed by America's eyes. England opened the large suitcase he brought, and took the gun out. He gave the blueprints to America, who accepted them and put them away safely.

"We call this gun the STEN. Here, have a look."  
America carefully took the gun from England, discovering that it was indeed, much lighter than the Thompson. He turned it a little, trying to figure out how to operate it, but England took it back before he got the chance.

He moved to the suitcase, picked up a magazine and took a bullet out of it.  
"9x19mm Parabellum." He said, and America just gazed emptily at the small piece of metal. "You'll find the specifics in the papers I handed you." With few skillful movements, he loaded the gun.

"Step back, Alfred."  
America quickly obliged, his eyes locked on England as he kneeled down on one knee, holding the gun at shoulder height. Squinting his left eye shut, he aimed for the most freaky looking 'alien', and opened fire.

America couldn't believe what he was seeing. Bullet after bullet were being pumped into the helpless sandbag, gunpowder flying from the barrel, sand leaking with every hole made. The speed was amazing, not to mention the sound, and America shifted his gaze from the alien, to England.

He sat there focused, shooting and reloading as if he were born to do so, one eye shut in complete focus. His teeth were gritted and he wore a serious expression, tiny beads of sweat sliding down his neck into his white dress shirt. For every bullet shot, the gun was blown upwards a bit, pressuring England in moving along with the metal to keep from falling back by the sheer force of the fire.

America never knew operating a weapon could be so.. inciting.

He watched, mesmerized, as England got back to his feet. The wind blew in a way that the gunpowder had spread on his shirt and his face and America found himself silenced by the aura of power that surrounded him.

This was the England he had looked up to. This was the power he admired. This was the man he-

"It's overall length is 30 inch."  
With a sharp click, he reloaded, and fired again. A rush of adrenaline surged through America at the sudden action and he shivered, though it was over before it started.  
"Barrel length; 7.8 inch."  
Another click, more bullets penetrating the sandbags. The clinging of the used bullets that fell at his feet sounded like church bells and sweet singing, America could feel his heartbeat speed up.  
"Unloaded weight; 7.1 pounds."  
America gasped as England fired again, realizing in the back of his mind that his old Thompson gun weighed over ten pounds. That explained why it felt so light when he first held the gun. England, however, held the gun like it weighed nothing, mastering it in a way America couldn't even dream of doing.

He stopped firing, and took a step towards America, holding the gun in front of him. America wasn't really sure where he wanted to look at, England, or the lethal weapon he was holding. It took him a while to realize England wanted him to take over, and he quickly recovered, taking the gun from him with slightly shaking hands.

"It's muzzle velocity is 1.198 feet per second and it works on a 32-rd detachable box magazine."  
"..ah…" America was having a hard time focusing on what he said, feeling the metal in his hands, still hot from the recent firing, from the warmth of England's hands.  
"The cyclic rate of fire, fully automatic, is over 550 rounds per minute."  
The younger Nation wasn't capable of forming a proper reply, so he attempted to figure out the gun instead. When he held it in front of him, he felt England standing behind him, his hands guiding his arms.

"Hold it like this." He gently pushed America's arms a little higher. America swallowed, taking in the smell of gunpowder that lingered on England's skin, feeling his cheeks burn. Carefully, America slid his fingers down the metal until they reached the trigger.  
"That's it." England said softly, and America was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. "Step back with your right foot.. alright."

America stood like this for a while, until England distanced himself from him, taking a few steps back for his own safety. Carefully, America put pressure on the trigger. Almost immediately, he felt himself being launched back with an amazing force as rapid fire emerged from the gun. He startled and let go of the trigger, breathing heavily.

"You have to keep your arms tense." England said, and America was pretty sure there was nothing within his body that _wasn't_ tense. "Keep them tense and push back as you fire. Here."  
He came up to America again and placed his hands on his arms, applying a little pressure. America stood silent, not really understanding what he had to do, until England gave him a small squeeze.

"Alfred, fire." He said, almost in a whisper, and America couldn't do anything but pull the trigger.

This time when the gun tried to overpower its holder, England was there behind him, talking him through it. It wasn't that America didn't have the strength to hold the gun back, America could pretty much hold gravity back if he wanted to. He just couldn't focus, and that's where England came in.

Bullet after bullet was shot, and America felt himself getting nervous at the continuity.  
"Keep going.."  
America's knees were starting to feel weak as he took in the words, the constant bullets putting pressure on his entire body. He almost dropped the gun when he felt England's foot pushing his leg a little further back.  
"Like that.. yes, that's it."  
The visuals those words had attached to them were almost too much and America pressed down on the trigger with more force, clinging onto it like it was his lifeline, his need, his savior.

Until the final magazine was empty.

England stepped back and America let the gun topple from his fingers, in trance. He lost the final bit of balance he had and fell over against England, who was caught by surprise, but managed to hold him up anyway.  
"Alfred, what's wrong?"  
America's hands fisted in his shirt and he moved himself closer against the Nation, bringing him down while he pulled himself up. Questioning green eyes looked at him, obviously confused, and America felt all the adrenaline and excitement hit him like a tsunami.

He moved his hands up to England's collar, and roughly locked their lips. He didn't care what the other Nation would think of him, he just wanted to _feel_ his body against his own. England let out a muffled gasp, and America abused the chance to deepen the kiss, delving his tongue inside his mouth.

He tasted of gunpowder and war, turning on America in ways he couldn't understand. After a short moment, he felt England's hands move to his hips, moving him closer as he started to kiss back. America moaned lowly inside his mouth at the much welcomed response, his hands moving from England's collar to his chest, feeling and _scratching_ wherever he could reach, ripping off a few buttons while doing so.

England slipped his hands under America's shirt, touching his way up to his nipples, pinching them roughly. America let out another moan and reluctantly pushed the older Nation away.  
"W..wait…" He said breathlessly. England stopped, but didn't remove his hands, following America's gaze to the ground.

To the gun.

He saw the needing look in America's eyes and arched an eyebrow. Bending down slowly, he took the gun from the ground and brushed the sand off of it slowly. America watched, lips parted, and England finally understood what was going on.

"So that's how it is.."  
America swallowed. England held the gun, letting the tip touch America through his shirt. It was still hot from firing and America hissed, closing his eyes. Curiously, England moved the gun up to his neck, sliding the metal along his skin, applying more pressure when it reached his throat.

America's breath caught and he froze, feeling his heartbeat pound in his chest as England pushed the gun further into his skin. With one step, he closed the distance between him and America, kissing him deeply. He littered kisses down his jaw, moving to his neck, and bit down.

"Nh.."  
"Who would have thought.." England let the gun rest on America's shoulder, his fingers reaching for the trigger. His other hand dropped down to his hip and he pulled America against him, grinding into him with a lazy, languid pace.  
"A-Arthur.."  
"Yes, Alfred?"

"Fire.."

England _was_ going to say that it would be too dangerous, that the gunpowder could burn him, that the blow could tear his skin, but the look in America's eyes told him he knew. Fierce blue stared right through him, almost commanding him to pull the trigger.

So he did.

The harsh, loud sound of bullets being fired so close to him made America squint his eyes shut. He bit his lip and pressed closer against England, feeling how little parts of his skin got burnt. England gasped, pushing back to keep control of the gun, letting the vibrations run through them both. He moaned as he felt America _claw_ at him, rubbing against him at frantic pace, the magazine empty just before he lost his grip on the weapon.

It hit the ground, and England did soon after when America tackled him down on the sand. In a haze, England noticed his shirt had been torn. He didn't get a chance to comment on it, because America grinded against him at full force, kissing the life out of him while he did it. He felt himself get dizzy and started moving along with America, pushing up as he pushed down, creating more of that delicious friction they needed like breathing.

England moaned as he felt the heat gather in his groin, pulling at him like an elastic string about to snap. America growled, feeling it too, moving faster against the Nation trapped below him. He couldn't hold on any longer, seeing the edges of his vision turning white.

England clasped a hand for his mouth and screamed into it as he came, staining his pants with hot, sticky cum. America looked at him and gave two more harsh thrusts before he followed, shouting England's name.

He collapsed next to him, lifeless as the gun, silently laying next to them.

* * *

"We're rejecting the design." His boss said from the other and of the line.  
"..What?" America asked, truly surprised. "The STEN had a score of 88! It's the highest of all the guns we tested!"  
"That might be so, but we don't trust it. That, and it's plain ugly."  
America couldn't believe his ears. He hadn't seen an ugly, cheap to make, unreliable gun during the tests. He had seen a beautiful weapon, one he'd kill to own. He'd seen some other good stuff too.  
"So.. now what?" America was still a little taken aback by his boss' decision.  
"Despite the fact that we don't trust the gun, it has inspired us to experiment with our own designs. We're going to look at our possibilities. Meanwhile, keep your eyes open for new models."

"Yes sir.."

England wasn't all that surprised when he heard the gun hadn't been accepted. He was the one who made it, after all. Maybe America's boss didn't feel like using British power. He didn't really care though, as he picked up his pencil and took a few plain sheets. With somewhat of a smile on his face, he started drawing.

* * *

Three years later, the phone rang again. This time, America managed to swallow the last bit of his hamburger _before_ answering it.  
"Alfred speaking!"  
"Hi, it's me." England said, sounding very serious.  
America blushed a little, remembering the last time he'd seen the older Nation.  
"Hey, what's up?"  
"I just wanted to let you know that we've made some improvements on the STEN. We have developed a new model, Mark III."  
America swallowed, not saying anything.  
"It's ready for a demonstration when you are, Alfred."  
"…I see."  
"Would you like me to call you back on this?" England asked.  
"No I..-" America sighed deeply, sticking the end of his pencil in his mouth before continuing.

"..I'll call you."

**Fin.**

* * *

*The original Thompson gun scored a mere 57 out of 100 on the test, but the department refused to give it up.  
*The production costs of the Mark II were no higher than $10 each, and they could be produced in massive quantities.  
*The Mark III had been looked at in 1942, but it got rejected again. However, after this rejection, the department told a gun developer to make his weapons just like the STEN had been made. The end result was a gun that had a production cost of about $20, and fired much slower in 400 round per minute. The department decided this gun was more reliable than the STEN, and accepted the design, naming it U.S. Submachine Gun, Caliber .45, M3.

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_Thank you for reading! Reviews are much appreciated!_

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